


Silly Girls and Stupid Boys

by Halfblood_Fiend



Series: It Has Always Been You (Inquisitor Viktoriea Trevelyan X Commander Cullen Rutherford) [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fights, Templars vs Mages, angsty romance, there's romance in there, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:44:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4223889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfblood_Fiend/pseuds/Halfblood_Fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally confronted in the War Room, Viktoriea finally says what has been on her mind since seeing Cullen again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silly Girls and Stupid Boys

Viktoriea took a deep, calming breath, and pushed against the heavy Chantry door with a begrudging creak.

“—we only could—“ Cullen was saying until she peeked her head inside the small room and three pairs of eyes found hers.

She smiled uncertainly, still not used to the attention her presence attracted and slipped inside. Cassandra followed closely, closing the door sharply behind them.

“Herald,” Lilleana greeted with a regal dip of her head.

Viktoriea tried not to be affected by the title, but she felt heat blossom across her chest anyway. Nearly a month and a half and the comparison to Andraste still made her tremble. She nodded distractedly to all of them with mumbled “hellos.” She was pleased that she managed not to look at Cullen directly again. With the way her heart fluttered at the near exchange, she was relieved she had avoided him thus far.

“You have news from the Storm Coast?” prompted Josephine when silence fell over the four of them.

Sharing a quick glance with Cassandra, Viktoriea nodded and approached the War Table. She eyed all the little wooden pieces scattered across the fraying maps. Creased by fingers and by folding and unfolding and scrutiny. The board was marked all over like some sort of chess game,. Pieces stood in place of waiting forces to be moved, nobles that required attention, and provinces discovered and yet to be. It exhausted Viktoriea just looking at how wide a spread she needed to reach when she already felt so thin. Though chosen by Andraste, she could not work her Lady’s miracles. There was too much for just her…

She cleared her throat and looked around at all of the grim faces around her (taking care not to linger on Cullen). With a halfhearted attempt at reminding herself that she wasn’t alone, she divulged on them the short version of her weeks of excursion on the Coast.

She told them in as great a detail as she could muster about the performance of The Iron Bull and his Chargers and tried to persuade her advisors on what an asset to the fledgling Inquisition they would be. Then she told them in rushed words that their opinions were moot because in her fervor, she had already hired them. (“You should have conferred with us first,” Lileana huffed. The others nodded collectively around the table. “I’m uncertain we can trust a Tal Vashoth, but if what you say is true and I can read his letters before he sends them, perhaps we can make it work.”) She told them about the squad of Inquisition soldiers Scout Harding had sent her to recover. Then recounted how she had been far too late to save them, though she had recorded each name and taken great care to bring back each body. And memorize each face, she added to herself, barely suppressing a shiver. (Cullen took the offered list with a heavy sigh and murmured, “I shall begin writing letters to their families at once.”) She told them about the Hessarians she encountered and recalled how she had taken control of their camp. She had challenged the previous leader and taken control of the group, who claimed faithfulness to Andraste, who now served her as her eyes and ears on the Storm Coast. (“Risky,” tutted Josephene, “but I believe the group could prove remarkably useful. Good thinking, Herald.”) She recounted her run-ins with Rifts and Dragons and Giants and the shards. Just talking about them made her involuntarily shiver. She’d never told her advisors why she pushed so fiercely for learning about the shards, but they unsettled her. They _sang_ to her; eerie, slow, whispered melodies that drew her precisely to each one’s location. After the first, she had commented on the music. When learning that no one else heard it (“Are you sure you’re okay, Tingles?” Varric had asked anxiously), she never mentioned it again. Her advisors listened intently, Cassandra elaborating where Viktoriea faltered. They provided input now and again until Viktoriea finally finished her long winded-tale and sagged against the table with the effort of speaking.

Viktoriea was so tired so suddenly. She had barely had any time at all to rest. As soon as she got back to Haven, she dumped her gear in the room she insisted on sharing with other refugees and went straight to the Chantry. It seemed to her that she had only very recently become dry again after the constant slogging through sleet and mud on the Storm Coast. After spending the past weeks in a perpetual state of chilled or drenched or both, all she wanted was a bath and a change of clothes. Both of which, she realized, were commodities in short supply here at their makeshift base.

Rubbiing her startlingly blue eyes, Viktoriea leaned over the table. She looked over the little markers and wondered what task she would have to tackle next. There were so many. They littered the map, obscuring the names written in carefully written ink. They were seemingly endless, only multiplying every time she returned from travelling…

“So, Commander, you were saying?” she heard Lileana urge.

“Hm? What?” Cullen asked, startled. Viktoriea looked up at him through her lashes only to meet his burning gaze for an instant. He tore his eyes away from hers to find Lileana with faraway eyes, the confusion apparent on his face. “Oh!”

Josephine’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle giggles and even Lileana herself had to struggle to keep the knowing smile off her face. Viktoriea rolled her eyes at all of them and returned her attention to the table wearily.

Just with one look, so many painful memories were dredged up.

“Y-yes. What I was saying was—”

“Perhaps another time, Commander,” Josephine cut in, glancing pityingly at Viktoriea. “I think that the Herald could use some well deserved rest.”

“Of course.”

_Ever the gentleman, wasn’t he?_ she thought bitterly.

Viktoriea pushed herself off the table, feeling every crick in her spine as she straightened out her back. She turned to go with a long sigh.

A soft throat clearing. “Viktoriea? A moment?” Cullen asked timidly from behind her.

She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if she could pretend she didn’t hear him and keep walking out the door.

The other advisors had swiftly left the room. It was only the two of them and their shared memories within these four oppressive stone walls. Was it worth it to her? She had done so well in avoiding him thus far. She had done well enough in suppressing the little girl inside her that still pined over him. Whenever she left the small village of Haven, she felt free, roaming the Hinterlands, trying not to think of the last time she had been in Ferelden. All in all, she had done fairly well for herself. She was certain that if she turned around, he would confront her and shatter the tiny shred of sanity that she had made for herself. Was it worth it? She could continue pretending that the sight of him training their recruits didn’t tear at her heart; she could pretend that standing across the table from him in the War Room didn’t muddle her thoughts into incoherence; she could pretend that his advice meant nothing more to her than if he were a stranger; she could pretend that she didn’t cry when she was still for too long, heartbroken that once again the Maker had put him in her path. Was whatever he had to say worth destroying what little happiness she managed to hold on to?

Hating herself even as even as she moved, she turned around to face him.

Cullen looked over her with concern, the candlelight flicking over his face gloriously. Though he looked as sure as he always did, she could see him thumbing the pommel of his sword with what she could only guess were nerves. _Did he feel the butterflies too?_ she wondered idly. Did his breath catch in his throat at the very sight of her? Did his heart clench painfully whenever she spoke? Maker, she hoped so. Then maybe one day, he would understand just what she went through at Kinloch.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” A statement, Viktoriea noted, not a question. _Thank the Maker they had such an astute man as a Commander._

“And?”

He blinked at her, caught off guard by the hostility in her voice. His surprise only made her more annoyed. After everything, she felt he had no right to be surprised by her reaction. “It’s just… You gave me an impression…when we spoke…” He stuttered, the poor boy. He grew redder as he spoke, looking everywhere but her.

Maker, he was just as she remembered.

She wanted to reassure him. She wanted to leap into his arms. Instead, she laughed bitterly. Viktoriea recalled the casual flirt she just couldn’t choke back. It was a moment of weakness in which she lost control of the giddy girl from Ferelden speaking once again to the beautiful Templar of her dreams. Viktoriea couldn’t stop herself fast enough.

_“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it,” she said._

_Yeah_ , she conceded to herself, _but I’d also love for the ground to swallow me whole right now_. She waited. No, that wasn’t happening either.

“Your impression was wrong,” Viktoriea said firmly. She felt the little girl inside her wither and for a moment she was sorry. With any luck, perhaps Viktoria could even kill the wretched thing for good with this encounter.

“Oh, I…” Cullen’s heavy brows knit in confusion. His hand rose to rub his neck and he looked away from her, trying not to look too crestfallen. And failing.

Viktoriea bit her lip as she watched, the little girl clawing desperately to get out, to hold what she had been so long been denied. But Viktoriea wasn’t having it. She was finished living unhappily in the wake of her memory of him. _Ten years_ , she reasoned with herself. _Haven’t you suffered enough?_

“But I was—ah—thinking—”

“No, Cullen,” Viktoriea whispered. She willed herself not to cry, she forced herself to utter her next words as if her very life depended on them. “It’s too late.”

Cullen looked up at her fiercely then, jaw working tightly. “It can’t be. You and I are both here now. How can you stand before me and say it’s too late?”

There were a thousand reasons, how was it that he didn’t know any of them? Viktoriea thought Cullen was expecting an awful lot of her if he wanted her to embrace him openly. Did he think she could pretend that their past had never happened? Memories like that, they scar a person. They don’t go away. They could be just as horrible as the demons in that right. All the happier memories, they turned sour after the Circle fell; it was the longest night Viktoriea could remember. When her world in the tower was destroyed, she counted on him to protect her; that was his job after all, wasn’t it? As a Templar…

“If you don’t know,” she said finally, “how could I explain?”

“I won’t accept that from you. You walked into my path again and I’ll be _damned_ if I don’t do something about it this time! It’s not too late. You’ll need a better reason than that, Viktoriea.”

“I can’t look at you, Cullen, without remembering… I can never forgive you.” Tears welled up in her eyes; no, she couldn’t, not now! She clenched her jaw and choked them back. Everything was forced back as she swallowed thickly, all the emotion, all the sobs, even the elation at his small promise. Did he even realize what that meant to her? He swore that he wouldn’t let her go. If it had been any other time, she might have leapt for joy. It was too cruel that he wanted her now when she had decided she was tired of being in love with him. Maker, how was that fair?

Cullen watched her intently, something like comprehension dawning on his face. “Viktoriea,” he whispered, quiet and pleading.

_“Viktoriea,” he murmured reverently against her lips. For the briefest moment, she forgot the distant screams and explosions, she forgot what they were. In that briefest moment, all her fantasies were ripe for her picking. “Stay safe.” And then he was gone._

She clasped her hands tightly over her ears, willing the memory away, shaking it out of her head. “Maybe there was a time,” Viktoriea choked in a near sob, “when I thought it was _romantic_ : a Templar and his ward…but I’ve seen that side…and it was _awful_. Maybe you don’t understand, but I _threw myself_ at you, and you ignored me. If you had only asked me then, Cullen, there would have been no question! You were everything I wanted: you were strong and you were kind and you were honest and _real_. And yet…at the end of all things, you were another fake. It turned out that you were not _half_ the man I believed you to be.”

Cullen shook his head against her every word, daring to cross the room towards her. “That was a long time ago.”

“Do you remember what you wanted to invoke that day, oh Templar of mine?” Viktoriea challenged, her eyes flashing. The air around them charged with static; she could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck. As the hum of electricity grew louder, she tried to curb the flow of her magic. It would do no good to lose it here, with him. He might cleanse her if she did. The little girl begged her to stop what she was doing, stop hurting _him_.

“I am no longer a part of the Order—”

“ _Do you remember what you wanted to do to your charges? To me?”_ she shrieked.

Viktoriea tried to glare daggers, but her expression grew weaker by the second as Cullen fixed her with a pained gaze. His message was clear: _please don’t say it_. He practically begged her with his eyes. The little girl begged too. She sobbed and cried, “No!” as if she could stop Viktoriea now. She ignored both their pleas.

“I remember,” she whispered so low she could barely hear it. And yet the words rang perfectly clear, disturbing the stillness of the room and roaring against her ears, a deafening accusation. “I remember when the Wardens brought you and Enchanter Irving down those stairs. I remember you thrashing. You were inconsolable and _wild_. You yelled at Knight-Commander Gregor. You screamed at us _. Do you remember what you said?”_

Cullen’s face crumpled like discarded parchment.

“Let me give you a little hint. It was a certain Rite whose name begins with the letter “A”!”

“I am _changed!”_ he hissed through his teeth. He came closer, begging more insistently now. Viktoriea wanted nothing more than to give in to him, but she knew better than that. She deserved better than to lose herself to a world that couldn’t be. “I am different! I am not that boy, Viktoriea! I was sent to Kirkwall and—“

“And I hear _that_ place was just the picture perfect Circle. I wonder, Cullen, why you didn’t try to Anull that one too?”

He shook his head vigorously and pleaded, eyes searching for understanding.  Viktoriea wished she was strong enough to tell him that he was wasting his time and his breath. “I didn’t want that because I had _learned!”_ He was close enough to reach for her. Viktoriea was nearly inclined to let him, her emotions roiled against each other so ferociously.

The little girl inside begged Viktoriea to listen to him and she tried her best to ignore what her young self wanted. There was nothing for either of them in this room. At least that’s what Viktoriea tried desperately to tell herself. That was the only way all this pain could be worthwhile.

“People don’t change, Cullen,” Viktoriea sighed, pulling away from his outstretched, grasping fingers. “Not really. I know what you are. You’re a man willing to forsake his friends out of fear—”

“Viktoriea!” he pleaded weakly.

“I was a _silly girl_ then! And you were a _stupid boy!_ We may have grown up, but we haven’t _changed_. I’ll always be the _mage_ that wasn’t good enough—” Her eyes watered again, spilling over her cheeks before she could stop it. She swiped angrily at the offending tears. She shouldn’t show her weakness for him, not here. He didn’t deserve to know what he did to her. But the old pain still stung in her deeply, renewed by her belief that she was closing herself off from him forever. “—and you’ll always be the _Templar_ that let fear dictate his actions.”

“Viktoriea…”

“You really think that lines on our faces or our new _titles_ would ever change any of that?”

“No,” Cullen relented quietly, “but our _experiences_ have! People _do_ change, Viktoriea!” A kind of defiant fire burned behind his golden eyes and Viktroiea was struck by it. She marveled at his power for the briefest second, her heart beating frantically with hope. It was foolish of her, she knew, that despite everything, a piece of her still held on dearly to hope. “They have shaped us. Molded us. _Neither_ of us is the same as we were then. Comparing where we are now to our past selves accomplishes nothing! I am no longer a Templar, you are not my charge. You are my equal!”

“I’m still a mage! Tell me again, Commander, about the precautions you set up for the mage refugees that come to Haven!”

Cullen ground his teeth furiously. “That’s not the same!”

“Oh, no?”

“You can’t pretend that the Fade ripping open across Thedas discounts the dangers of the Fade in each individual. They are ever present. You are smart enough to know that! It’s as much for their protection as everyone else’s!”

“How different are you really, Commander? That you still tell yourself lies like those. Mages have proven themselves stronger than that myth time and time again! Their madness is the fault of skittish Templars that want cut them down before they have a chance!”

With a frustrated growl, he threw his hands in the air. “I will not debate this with you! Templars or mages, that has nothing to do with what I am asking!”

“Of course it does!” Viktoriea cried. How was it that he still didn’t understand? How could he be so blind even now? “That’s what this has _always_ been about!” Tears flowed freely, coming too fast to wipe away as she confronted the ugly truth rearing its head in the cold little room. It was monstrous and leered at them with a crooked grin, a demon to steal away the happiness that either of them dared to dream of. This demon was always between them, ever since the beginning. It was a monster that was stronger than any mage could resist; no Templar could slay it, not even with the holiest smite. “You are a Templar, and I am a mage.” The demon seemed to laugh at them.

Closing his eyes, his head hung heavily. This time when he argued, it seemed weak, even to her. Maybe he had finally realized this was a gap they could never cross. “I saw the horrors wrought by strict Templars and desperate mages. I understand your plight now more than you know. You think that it is too late, that it’s not even _worth a try?”_

She laughed, short and humorless. “You understand mages, Commander? I dare you to _prove_ _it_. Or would you like to explain to me _again_ why you would rather I recruit the Templars and not the rebel mages?”

That stopped him finally, brow furrowed. Defeated.

How the demon _laughed_.

_That’s what I thought_ , she sighed hopelessly in her head, saddened and exhausted by the weight of it all. “Goodnight, Commander,” she dismissed shortly and ran from the horrible, mocking room as swiftly as she could.


End file.
